


Let's Have a Kiki

by JerseyGirl324



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005), Torchwood
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Bondage, Dubious Consent, Exhibitionism, Flogging, M/M, PTSD, Psychological Trauma, Rape, S&M, Strangulation, Whipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-17
Updated: 2013-01-17
Packaged: 2017-11-25 19:35:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/642288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JerseyGirl324/pseuds/JerseyGirl324
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Master comes back to share his love of the new Scissor Sisters album with Jack and Ianto...<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	Let's Have a Kiki

**Author's Note:**

> Post CoE AU where Ianto survives. Post End of Time. Explicit sexual acts, non-consensual/dubious consent. Fic also illustrated by [awabubbles. ](http://awabubbles.tumblr.com)
> 
> Also, for something of a Year That Never Was prequel, check out [Sex and Violence](http://archiveofourown.org/works/642296).

The sprawling mansion, nestled in the plush greenery of the English countryside, has been abandoned and largely forgotten for over three years. The wealthy owner was unexpectedly hauled away by the authorities on New Year’s Day, shortly after a large red planet had appeared in the skies above the Earth, and he has not been seen or heard from since. The few remaining members of the Torchwood team are nevertheless spending the warm afternoon combing the vast, cavernous halls of the empty residence, searching for the cause of an inexplicable rift spike that had been traced to the location only hours earlier.

Upon entering a massive room on the ground level, the trio is greeted by the shattered remains of what was once an intricate domed skylight. The floor beneath their feet is slick from the previous night’s rain, and a musty smell permeates the hot, stale air.  
  
“What happened here?” Gwen’s voice is subdued as she gazes around the large room, treading carefully to avoid the shards of glass blanketing the marble underfoot.  
  
“We’re standing in the heart of Joshua Naismith’s failed dreams of immortality.” Jack’s tone is all business as he addresses the members of his team, not betraying his own frustration at the Doctor’s characteristic failure to tell him exactly what _had_ happened.  
  
“If something has come through, we’ll just have to wait until it materializes,” Ianto observes. “There’s nothing here now.”

Hours later, Jack and Ianto return to the hub alone. Unable to track the cause of the spike, they console themselves with a large pizza and debate ways to pass the time. Just as they begin to grab eagerly at each other’s clothes, the deafening sound of music shatters the quiet solitude, instinctively causing the pair to jump to their feet in shock and surprise  
  
“ _LET’S HAVE A KIKI!”_ The two men stare at each other, baffled and annoyed.  
  
“ _I WANNA HAVE A KIKI…LOCK THE DOORS…”_   The upbeat song persistently continues, blaring from every speaker in the room, stifling all coherent thought.  
  
“Did you program the system to do this?” Jack struggles to make his voice heard over the din, glaring accusingly at Ianto.  
  
“No! Don’t blame this on me!” Ianto shouts back, rushing for the control panels in a futile effort to stop the unbearable noise.  
  
Jack stands dazed for a moment before a terrifying realization begins to dawn: it’s the _Scissor Sisters_ . While Ianto adores the quirky pop group, always wanting to play their albums during sexual escapades, Jack is forced to hide the primal fear that rises in his chest every time one of their catchy tunes starts up. There was another man who was a fan of the Scissor Sisters: a man who still haunts Jack, who remains burned into the far reaches of his consciousness even years after their time together had drawn to a welcome close.  
  
“Ianto!” Jack rushes for his lover in a desperate panic just as a slender, maniacally grinning figure emerges from a dark corner of the hub.  
  
“ _LOCK THE DOORS…TIGHT!”_ The perky suggestion is the last thing Jack hears before a bright, hot flash of orange turns his whole world black…  
  
Images of carnage and destruction whirl through Jack’s mind as the synapses and neurons slowly fire back to life…continents burning, millions crying out in agony, a smirking man in a black suit standing over him…and then the burning pain, the unsympathetic laugh, involuntary release, utter shame and degradation. _“What a freak. He enjoys it in spite of himself! I wonder how far I can push this little toy before it breaks…”_  
  
Jack returns to life screaming, unable to process the painful memories that he has kept at bay for so long. He immediately tries to move, but quickly realizes that his wrists are chained securely over his head, his body unclothed from the waist up. Despite a fierce internal struggle, he manages to get himself under control and begins to scan the room for signs of danger. After a few frantic moments, he spots an unconscious Ianto, who has been arranged in a similar tableau a few metres away.  
  
“Doesn’t this bring back so many delightful memories?” He hears the Master before he sees him, the familiar taunting voice echoing from the darkness outside his field of vision.  
  
“You died,” Jack whispers, as if saying the words will make them a reality. “I watched you burn. Do you hear me? You are _dead_ !”  
  
“And here I thought you would be happy to see me!” The pouty voice moves closer, until Jack can sense the Master standing directly behind him, breathing warmly into his ear. “But I see you’ve found a pretty new plaything to occupy yourself with instead.”  
  
“Master…” The name leaves Jack’s lips instinctively, imploringly, just as it has so many times before. “Whatever you want, take it from me. Leave him out of this.”  
  
“Now what fun would that be?”  
  
The Master slowly circles his prey, providing Jack with the first proper look at his tormenter since he lay dying in the Doctor’s arms. He is wearing the same well-pressed black suit and sporting his characteristic toothy smirk, but his hair is now a striking bleach blond. And the eyes. The depths of the eyes are filled with a dangerous insanity that Jack had never registered there before.  
  
“Have you told him?” the Master asks quietly, cocking his head pointedly in the direction of the still-unconscious Ianto. “Does he know what a filthy little freak you are?”  
  
“As if you are even _worth_ a mention to anyone on my team,” Jack spits back, glaring at the Master with a resurgent defiance. “And by the way,” he observes sarcastically, “you’ve really let yourself go. Bottle blond is definitely _not_ a good look for you, _Master_ .”  
  
“Now there’s that feisty spirit I so love to break!” The Master grins ecstatically and places a suggestive, leather-gloved hand on Jack’s chest. “You see, the best part is that I now have so many ways to—what’s the saying?— _kill two birds with one stone_ .”  
  
“Tell me what you want.” Jack fights to keep his voice from wavering, concern for Ianto wiping away all traces of attitude and blinding him to any fear for his own safety. His body shudders involuntarily as the Master moves teasing fingers up and down the naked flesh of his torso, cool leather causing the hairs to stand militantly on end.  
  
“I’m going to enjoy myself with both of you,” the Master replies coolly. “And thanks to your wonderful time lock, we’ll have no unwanted interruptions.”  
  
“This is between you and me, Master,” Jack warns quietly. “It has nothing to do with anyone else.”  
  
“You should know me better than that, Jack. I’m not going to _kill_ such a pretty boy. All you need to understand is that it would be in everyone’s best interest if you both cooperate.”                 
  
Without further explanation, the Master removes a newly-fashioned laser screwdriver from the waistband of his trousers, takes aim at Ianto, and fires a single blazing shot directly into the unconscious man’s chest. Ianto startles awake violently, gasping and shaking as Jack looks on in total horror. Confusion blankets his features as he slowly begins to grasp the position that he is in; his gaze soon falls on Jack, the helpless expression causing his lover’s heart to break.  
  
“Ianto,” he calls out firmly, needing to be strong for both of them. “It’s going to be alright. Just stay calm and don’t provoke him.”  
  
“You would do well to listen to your freak of a boyfriend,” the Master sneers, striding purposefully over to Ianto. “But it’s ultimately going to be _me_ who you’ll be, uh, shall we say… _obeying_ …”  
  
“Who are you?” Incomprehension dominates the shackled man’s features as he gazes upon the Master for the first time. “You look like the former prime minister: Harold Saxon.”  
  
“Do I?” The Master grins, roughly cupping Ianto’s chin in a leather-clad palm. “In that case, I hope you found Mr. Saxon attractive. Would you say he ‘ticked your box?’”  
  
“He wasn’t really my type,” Ianto responds dryly, deliberately tilting his head back in an unsuccessful attempt to escape the unwelcome touch.  
  
“As if I care what you thought,” the Master replies dismissively, conspicuously tightening his grip. “But you should be aware that, although he might deny it, handsome Jack here finds me quite irresistible indeed.”  
  
A pained look descends over Ianto’s face; betrayed eyes seek out Jack, searching for answers to this unanticipated revelation. Jack feels deflated, his secrets about that year no longer contained within his own memory. He had only tried to protect Ianto—and himself—from the humiliation that would ensue should he ever speak about, or even reflect upon, his time on the Valiant. The most important thing was that he had survived and moved on. Nothing that occurred between him and the Master had been of his own volition—it hadn’t _meant_ anything. Or so he had always told himself. And Ianto simply didn’t need to know. But in this moment, Jack wants desperately to reassure him. He isn’t sure he can muster the right words.  
  
“Ianto. Please. You can’t trust him. But I swear, you can trust me.” Jack’s attempt at comfort borders on begging, and he wishes that he could tell Ianto that it was nothing, _nothing_ .  
  
“Jack?” Ianto wants to believe the man who means more to him than anything in this world, but he is hurt nonetheless. Not because of what Jack may have done, but because he has told him nothing about this volatile man who now holds both of them at his mercy. Ianto knows that Jack has had many lovers before him; what stings even more is that the only-too-human Captain will likely have many more long after he is gone.  
  
“Oh yes, handsome Jack and I have quite a history together,” the Master chimes in giddily, stroking Ianto’s face in mock sympathy.  
  
The Time Lord steps away and heads for a familiar black trunk that has been positioned nearby. Jack’s chest tightens painfully as he gazes upon it: it is the place where he and Ianto store their private collection. He braces for the worst, knowing only too well what the Master is capable of given the right equipment. But more than anything else, he is utterly mortified that an unhinged maniac now has access to their intimate personal possessions. The Master has always been quite innovative, with or without toys, and it is clear that he has had ample time to search the hub for anything that might serve his malicious purposes.  
  
“It was very thoughtful of you to save me the trouble of having to bring my own,” the Master observes with a smirk as he carefully selects a simple black leather collar from the depths of the box. He glances smugly in Jack’s direction before returning to Ianto. The Master expertly fits the collar around his neck, fastening the buckles tightly and locking them into place before his specimen is able to offer up any resistance. He steps back and drinks in the intoxicating sight, reveling in his handiwork.  
  
“Use me instead!” Jack cries out, offering himself up in the vain hope of sparing Ianto the trauma that he knows will come at the Master’s sadistic hands.  
  
He receives only a smug wink in reply as his old nemesis strolls casually back to the trunk, sifting through the contents for what feels like an eternity before selecting a long, slender crop from amongst the diverse array of implements. Apparently satisfied with his choice, the Master taps it rhythmically into his palm, keeping time with the familiar beat of the drums.  
  
“Now then,” he begins, positioning himself in front of an uneasy Ianto, “the first lesson you need to learn is how to properly use my name when you speak.”  
  
“Normally people shake hands as an introduction…”  
  
No sooner have the words left his mouth than a sharp blow from the crop causes Ianto to jerk in unanticipated pain, biting his lower lip to prevent himself from crying out in shame and surprise. The Master allows him a moment to recover before administering a series of calculated smacks to his exposed upper chest.  
  
“Jack, are you really going to let this silly boy suffer from his own ignorance?” The Master’s tone is one of pure condescension as he ends the barrage on Ianto and turns his attention to his former victim. “You know the protocol. I would expect you to enlighten this naïve creature so that he can be of proper use to me.”  
  
“Master, _please_ …” Jack’s voice is weak as images from the Valiant, long buried, suddenly come flooding back without restraint. The Master always demanded absolute respect and a prompt response to commands; arduous punishments, which often resulted in death, were the nonnegotiable consequence of displeasing him. And Jack, his soul be damned, had eventually become conditioned to obey. When the Master ordered him to kneel, he sank to his knees without a word, eyes turned downward in recognition of his abject subjugation. For an entire year, he had allowed himself to be penetrated, whipped until the blood flowed, used and abused without resistance--and the Master, often intent on heightening the humiliation, had coerced pleasure from Jack’s traitorous cock more often than he cared to admit or remember.  
  
“I’m sorry…” he stammers weakly, struggling to overcome the complete mortification. Ianto simply stares at him, doubt colouring his soft face.  
  
“We’re _waiting_ , Jack.” The Master taps his foot theatrically in annoyance.  
  
“Ianto,” Jack chokes out, “his name is the Master. You should do what he says. There is no other choice. He wants you use his name when you address him.”  
  
“The _Master_ ?” Ianto’s voice is a strange mix of fury, amusement, and pity.  
  
“You two can resolve this sentimental lovers’ tiff later,” the Master interjects impatiently. “Right now, I’ve got bigger plans for sweet Ianto here. You don’t mind, do you Jack?”  
  
“Don’t hurt him, Master, I’m begging you…”  
  
“And you beg _so well_ ,” the Master responds with a leer, trading the crop for a long bullwhip, which he cracks intently on the hard floor. The sound echoes malevolently through the hub, causing Jack to visibly cringe. “Not that it ever gets you anywhere.”  
  
“Master…” Jack’s plea is ignored as the Time Lord shifts his focus back to Ianto.  
  
“Now let’s try this one more time,” the Master commands firmly. “Say my name.”  
  
“Master.” Toneless and flat, the response is hardly satisfactory.  
  
“Have it your way.” The Master raises an arm, swinging the whip behind him in preparation for a calibrated strike. Before Ianto has a chance to brace himself, the braided leather makes contact with the back of his shoulder blades, the pronounced impact causing the overhead chains to rattle as his body violently lurches forward and then recoils. The Master knows how to administer discipline; he always takes care not to damage his playthings too quickly. Better to make them last, breaking them slowly while instilling absolute compliance along the way.  
  
“Would you like me to stop?” he inquires with feigned compassion. “Answer me.”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
Better, but not good enough. Another strike, noticeably sharper than the first, cracks across Ianto’s back, breaking the pale skin and producing an agonized cry. The Master loves to draw blood, and moves in to follow the tiny crimson stream with a gloved finger. He places it against Ianto’s quivering lips, promptly hushing the soft whimpers that now emanate from between them.  
  
“Yes, _what_ ?”  
  
“Yes…Master.”  
  
“Good boy.”  
  
Across the room, Jack hangs helplessly, watching the scene unfold. He would give anything to accept the punishment for both of them—if only it meant that Ianto would be reprieved. Jack can take the torture, even to death. He has done so before. But to watch the man he cherishes be subjected to the Master’s cruelty is the worst torment of all. He prays that Ianto will forgive him when this is all over, but understands intuitively that he doesn’t deserve forgiveness from anyone. He is a coward, and Jack himself realizes it even more than the Master does. He was weak during that year on the Valiant, a pathetic creature who merely sank into submission while others fought and sacrificed to save humanity from total destruction. It was true that he had never stopped thinking about his team, but could do nothing to protect them. He had instead allowed himself to be utterly broken—and for that there were no excuses.  
  
“Does Jack disgust you?” the Master snarls, lips menacingly close to Ianto’s ear.  
  
“ _You_ disgust me,” Ianto fires back, unable to restrain the reckless impulse.  
  
“Feisty!” the Time Lord exclaims, drawing the whip back yet again. “But sadly not a proper answer to my question.” With an exaggerated sigh, he swishes the implement through the air, once again making contact with raw flesh and drawing forth new droplets of warm blood.  
  
“Do you know what he let me do to him?” the Master breathes softly, suddenly unfastening Ianto’s trousers and lowering them just enough to expose the delicate curve of his ass.  
  
He moves behind his captive and slowly coils the cool leather of the whip around Ianto’s collared neck, eliciting a quiet gasp. The Master begins to rub himself licentiously against the newly-exposed flesh, glancing over at Jack with taunting eyes, immune to his silent pleas for mercy. Ianto is now breathing heavily, and the Master gradually pulls the whip’s tail tighter around his windpipe, cutting off just enough air to induce moderate panic and disorientation.  
  
“Master, please stop…” Jack’s entreaties fall on deaf ears as he is forced to watch his lover asphyxiate before his eyes. He struggles in desperation, the chains above his head clanking viciously and coldly thwarting any attempt at escape. “Just _stop_ …”  
  
“Do you remember how this feels, Jack?”  
  
The Master simply laughs in amusement and continues the strangulation, calculating the pressure to ensure that his victim remains conscious. After several tense moments, he loosens the whip from Ianto’s throat and ragged gasps reverberate around the hub, mingling with Jack’s tortured groans. Leaving the disheveled man to catch his breath alone, the Master finally advances on his old plaything, whose head is now hung in utter defeat and despair.  
  
“If you won’t tell him, then we’ll just have to show him instead,” the Master muses thoughtfully, placing a domineering hand around Jack’s neck. His other hand strays lower, fingers prodding and squeezing whatever erogenous zones are within reach, leather grazing the soft skin beneath the waistband of Jack’s trousers.  
  
“Okay,” the broken man murmurs, averting his rapidly dampening eyes in surrender. “Master.”  
  
“Just like old times,” the Master croons, going to work removing the remainder of Jack’s clothing. He then proceeds to unbuckle his own belt, sliding it provocatively out of the loops and folding it over in one hand. Jack doesn’t flinch as his bare ass receives several sharp whacks; he is unable even to look up, too ashamed to meet the gaze of either the Master or Ianto.  
  
The Time Lord is close behind him now, and he can make out the distinctive, ominous sound of trousers being unzipped. Jack feels the tip of a cold finger pressing delicately into him, and he closes his eyes and inhales deeply. The Master often took him roughly, without care or preparation; but there were other times, infinitely more mortifying, when his captor was gentle, coaxing his body to respond with subtle precision. Jack can already discern that this encounter will be of the latter variety, and he loathes himself for permitting it to unfold without a word or gesture of resistance. Although he cannot see his face, Jack knows that the Master is smirking as still more fingers penetrate and probe, opening him on silent command.  
  
And then the Time Lord enters him, pushing in smoothly to the hilt and making immediate contact with the prostate. The Master knows Jack’s body well, its most intimate areas familiar territory; he had always capitalized on this knowledge whenever he desired to add greater humiliation to their games, and his careful skill had provided him with many crowning achievements. But on this occasion, the Master has an audience—an _unwilling_ audience—and that arouses him to no end. He begins to thrust harder into Jack’s hot, yielding body, pleased to discover that his plaything is still so well-trained. However, he is far too silent and unresponsive. Something must be done about that.  
  
“Say my name.”  
  
“Master,” Jack sighs, voice emotionless and barely audible.  
  
“Louder.”  
  
“Master!” A vast improvement this time.  
  
The Master pants seductively into Jack’s ear, noticing the telltale signs of an erection beginning to form. He reaches around and grasps the other man’s cock, massaging it in rhythm with his own enthusiastic thrusts. As expected, Jack hardens beneath the experienced fingers, finally unable to bite back a low moan as the Master works him with expert caresses. He hates this, the way the Master makes him feel—but he hates himself most of all.  
  
“Come for me, Jack.” The command is firm, authoritative, _familiar_ .  
  
And Jack obeys with an audible sob, spilling into the Master’s hand as his body betrays him. He can feel his persecutor simultaneously reach his own climax, swiftly flooding his insides before withdrawing in exultant victory. Jack’s face is hot and flushed, and he still refuses to look up, fearful of his enemy’s jubilant glee, of Ianto’s disappointed stare. He doubts he will ever be forgiven.  
  
“Now precious Ianto knows what a monster you really are,” the Master derides, voice so soft that only the two of them, locked in their own private moment, can hear the callous words.  
  
“What are you going to do now?” Jack mutters, not caring about the answer.  
  
“Don’t you see, Jack?” the Time Lord replies quietly, tucking himself back into now-unkempt trousers. “This was all I needed to do. And you made it so easy.”  
  
“That’s all?” Jack asks in stark disbelief. He had sacrificed in an effort to save Ianto, but if this is all there is, he wonders how he could ever have given in without hesitation. He really was a good slave after all.  
  
“So greedy!” the Master snickers. “I’ve got more important things to do than sit around with you two all day. Places to go, galaxies to conquer. The universe has missed me.”  
  
And with those parting words, the Master gives him a final patronizing caress on the shoulder before striding back towards Ianto, unceremoniously wiping a sticky hand across the other man’s cheek as he briskly makes his way out of the hub. He leaves the two shackled, unclothed men alone in unnerving silence to pick up the shattered pieces. Neither of them speaks. Jack sobs quietly and never looks up. There is nothing left for him to say.


End file.
